I wrote this in August. I need you to know that it isn't true.

Here’s to new beginnings, new chapters, and the metaphoric glass of $7.50 champagne that I am tipping in your direction at this very moment.

Expect to be hearing from me more often. The below pretty much sums up Now to Then.

From the fake moleskin journal I kept for a class that turned into a journal until I found my real moleskin one:

August 6, 2011

As Mulder, my needier and more dog-like of cats nestles next to me and looks at me sideways with his little cat-chin tilted toward the ceiling, I am prompted to find some paper.

He is more clingy than usual because he doesn’t like change.

This is a moment in which is project myself into a field of soft grass, and step back as he plays with the other cats. Upon seeing my young cat-son’s natural mannerisms, I remove myself, sigh and utter to myself, “He is just like his mother.”

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August is the cherry on top of what has enede up to be a mediocre sundae.

The fudge of May/early June was rich and slow. Soft serve vanilla brought it’s fudgy flow to a screeching halt and all I could do was watch it melt because I had no appetite.

Whipped cream and other standard toppings made it seem “right” but I still wouldn’t eat it.

Because I am waiting for fall. For 2511 W. Diversey.

For a recovered bank account

For acclimation to a full time schedule so I can muster up that adventerous part of myself that I mostly admire.

But the fact remains that I do this all the time. This bracket, colon, comma, list of Future.

So I don’t have to look at where I am.

With my things piled up all around and loads of laundry scattered parallel to all of that.

Last night, I looked at all of our stuff while you sipped whisky in the kitchen. Almost all of our posessions take up half of a decently sized room.

This is admirable.

And these posessions are mostly books. Just in a pile in that corner of the room. And I thought, “What’s the point? 2511 W. Diversey is coming.”

But he insists that we organize. Make space, a defined space, a place that can be important to him, and, consequently, to us.